The Winter War
by RunawayToaster
Summary: He who takes Camelot takes the Kingdoms. The saxons have breached the Camelot border, have their eyes set on the throne and will stop at nothing to get it. when friendship is scarce and war on the horizon, can Merlin unite Avalon before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Merlin ran, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he took step after aching step. The forests were dark, the smoke wafting between the trees and darkening the already pitch black shadows. Behind him the screams still pierced the night and the sticky, cloying smell of burning flesh made him retch again and again as the cottages burnt fiercely, painting the darkness with a dancing orange glow in the distance, and a thick plume of smoke curling its way into the sky. He was bleeding heavily from a deep cut in his back, and his bare arms were getting scratched and torn on the brittle, sharp and bone like twigs of naked low branches and in his terror he imagined them reaching out to grab him in their cold clutches. Every footstep screamed at him in agony, but he dared not stop lest he couldn't get up again and then those terrible men with their blaring horns and horrible heavy axes, and razor sharp sword blades would come, and he knew they would take him without a thought.

Dawn arose in the east, the heavy darkness of the night slowly surrendering to the peach skies of the morning sun and lying on the narrow track that cut between the thick forests, just outside a town named Dyfed, lay Merlin. Exhaustion overcame him, and death was close. Crows called and settled in the surrounding trees, knowing an easy meal wasn't far off. Merlin had bled profusely, and lay curled up and filthy as passing horses had kicked dirt onto him, the riders dismissing him as already dead and helpless, and the soot and smoke from his burning village had settled on his face and hands.

Merlin woke slowly, his vision shifting in and out of focus as consciousness gradually returned to him. He was in an unfamiliar hut, with a small fire flickering in the corner and smoke drifting in a haze as it struggled to find a smoke hole to leave through. Dried herbs and various animal bones and skulls hung in bunches from the roof beams along with bunches of horsehair, a woollen cloak, a bow and quiver of arrows and an oil burning lamp. A shield displaying an image of a griffin-a half eagle half lion beast-was leant against the wattle and daub wall in the corner, along with a white-shafted spear wrapped with green leaves-usually carried by warriors travelling in peace. In another corner was a basket filled with what appeared to be an assortment of stones and iron amulets, and next to that the large bones of a bear-too heavy to hang from the rafters. He realised he lay under its pelt, and was bound at the wrists by an old leather strap. For a horrible moment he thought the Saxons had captured him and let out a low moan.

"Hey, you made it!" A low voice sounded and a face entered his vision. It was a face of a Saxon and Merlin moaned again. "Hush, its okay." she spoke again, in perfect British and Merlin just looked at her, confused.

"Where am I?" he managed to croak tiredly.

"Dyfed" the girl smiled. "I'm guessing you're from Aealdor?"

Merlin nodded. "I ran this far?"

Tyrell nodded. "Mmm-hmm. I'm sorry about that."

"They burnt it all." Merlin moaned. "They killed…they killed my mother. They killed my friends…" Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered the events. "They came and they were so fast and so terrible and so many of them. They didn't stand a chance!" he began to sob, and winced as his chest heaved, the tired muscles protesting painfully.

"Hush now, it's alright, you're safe here." Tyrell wiped at Merlin's still dirty face and eased him into a sitting position. She removed the leather strap from around his hands. "I put this here to stop you from lashing out" she explained. "People often do when coming out of poppy juice induced sleep." She stowed it away by securing it around a low beam.

"Who…who are you?"

"My name's Tyrell. You're tired, sleep some more." She smiled and got to her feet. "I'll be here when you wake up; you'll be safe"

Merlin closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep haunted by the screams and cries of his friends and family as his home, his life and everything he had ever known was destroyed and turned to nothing but a pile of ash and bones by the Saxons. Flames leapt behind his closed lids and the smell of the smoke and burning flesh wisped into his memory. He relived the moment they had come, how he had been woken from his sleep by the first of the screams and how his mother had screamed too as the door collapsed, and she begged with them in their tongue to leave them be, but they just laughed and kicked the burning logs in the fire so that they skittered across the floor and the fire grew to consume the cottage. Hunith screamed as the flames surrounded her and she looked at Merlin with eyes so bright and so full of fear it sent an ice cold shudder through him. _Run, Merlin, run! Run, run run run!_ The last thing she had said to him resounded in his ears, haunting him and echoing over and over again until he screamed himself awake shivering and in a cold sweat despite the thick bear pelt he lay under. For a terrifying moment the flames still danced in his vision and he stumbled to his feet in the unfamiliar hut, desperate to escape. He had to run, he had to go.

"Merlin?" Tyrell's voice cut through his blind panic, and her felt her cool hands guide him back onto the low straw filled pallet he had been sleeping on.

"I'm sorry" he mumbled. "The dream…I…it was so real…the flames, I could see them…and my mother…" his voice trailed off. "I saw my mother, before they took her. Before she died…"

"Hush, it's okay, I understand" Tyrell moved away and squatted over the fire for a few minutes, and returned carrying a wooden bowl with a meaty smelling broth in it that she handed to him. "You need to drink this. It's been two days, you'll get ill if you don't eat."

"You don't understand" Merlin looked at the broth and sighed. "You don't understand! They took my mother! They killed her! They killed my friends and their families, they killed the livestock and took the harvest, they took the children and burnt them. They burnt everything, they took everything! You _don't_ understand! You're a Saxon!"

Tyrell Looked at Merlin with so much pain in her deep set, brilliant blue eyes and sighed. "I do understand, Merlin. I was taken from my family as a slave when I was six years old. The men used me as their plaything, their pleasurer. The villagers here hate me because of the Saxon blood in my veins, and the Saxon words that lie dormant on my tongue. I'm only protected here because they fear for me" she gestured to the bones, herbs, stones and old weapons that littered her small hut. They come to me with their ailments because I learned how to fix broken things and broken people." She smiled weakly "and because they think I'm magic, but they daren't say lest I turn them into newts."

Merlin looked down, regretting the words that had flown from his mouth in his grief stricken anger. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, we all say things we regret when we're angry. And that's okay too, getting angry, because it shows you care."

Merlin looked at her and took in her features. She had a wide, friendly face with deep set bright blue eyes and long gold-blonde hair that cascaded down to her mid back. Her forehead was obscured by a straight fringe that accentuated her eyes and together they betrayed her Saxon bloodline. Her mouth was always hitched up at the corners in an inviting smile. "Was I asleep for two days?" he eventually asked and took a sip of the now lukewarm broth.

Tyrell nodded. "I didn't think you were going to live" she admitted. "I saw you by the road and thought you were already gone, but I lifted you and you were only just breathing, and I saved you."

Merlin stared at her. "I wish you hadn't" he sighed. "I don't deserve to survive."

Tyrell looked at him. "Don't say that. You survived for a reason, Merlin. You must have a great destiny upon your shoulders."

Merlin sighed and lay back down on the soft pallet, thinking about what the Saxon had just said. If he had a destiny, then it meant The Gods had something planned for him, and they had chosen him for something, but what?


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin woke slowly, the dreams of the raid still haunting his mind. He shook his head to shake them away and sighed. It had been three days since the Saxons had come, and the pain still felt the same.

"We need to journey to Camelot" Tyrell mused aloud as she fetched down assorted herbs and began to pack.

"Camelot?" Merlin looked up at her, his thoughts broken by her voice.

"Yes, Camelot" She stuffed two pelts into the pack and tied a small leather pouch onto her belt. She leant her bow and quiver by the door in readiness for leaving. "What route should we take?" she asked, more to herself than anyone.

"The fastest one? We need to tell the king the Saxons have breached; they could be on their way here as we speak!"

"Merlin, I doubt it. They would have come to us by now." She got to her feet and smiled. "Besides, we'll be gone by this evening so it won't matter."

"But the villagers will die."

"Let them" She spat into the fire to avert evil.

Merlin was astonished by her sudden viciousness and sat in silence whilst she worked.

"We'll go to Pellinore tonight; they have a tavern there for travellers, we can stop there overnight and possibly buy some horses." Tyrell spoke fast as together they walked out of Dyfed. Merlin noticed a darkened patch on the road and realised with a shudder that was where he had lain. He walked slowly, his back throbbing with a low pain but being soothed by the lavender and peppermint poultice Tyrell had applied.

"You've thought this through" he mused, watching Tyrell as she strode beside him with a swaying gait that would have been dismissed as heavy and clumsy on any other woman, but it suited her perfectly.

"Yes" she admitted. "I've planned as far as the fort at Clan-Ludd, but I haven't ever been further than there."

"Neither have I" Merlin sighed and thought for a while. "If you're Saxon, have you been to Llogyr?"

"Yes" Tyrell sighed. "But I don't remember much of it. I remember the roman villas and forts, and the terrible battles that ripped me from my family. Since then I haven't been back." She looked at him, her blue eyes hard in the chilly late summer sun. "Not that I want to, I much prefer the Celts. As far as I'm concerned, I am a Celt, not a Saxon."

Merlin blanched at that statement. "But you were born a Saxon." He stated simply.

"I know" Tyrell shook her head. "But the accident of my birth is nothing. I look like a Saxon but I speak like you. I live like you. Merlin, I worship the same Gods as you. Denzil always said I had been touched by Ceridwen. I feel their power, Merlin. Aeron, Amaethon, Gofannon" She checked off the God's names on her fingers, "Llyr, Ceridwen, Epona, Modron and Pennardun are all there and they're watching us. They thrive on our chaos. I know when I die Arwn and Hafgan will be waiting for me in Annwn."

Merlin went quiet, digesting Tyrell's words. He didn't ask who Denzil was, but he guessed he had been special to her. They walked in silence for the next mile.

"A room for myself and my friend" Merlin leant on the oak bar of the smoky tavern and flashed a smile at the bartender, who returned the smile.

"It'll cost" She spoke with a soft voice that lilted slightly, like the accents of the mysterious Irish that lived in the land over the Western Sea known as Hibernia.

"How much?" Merlin fished out the gold coins that Tyrell had given him from her suspiciously large supply.

"Five coins. Anythin' t' drink whilst yer 'ere?"

Merlin nodded. "Two tankards of mead will do." He slid two more coins across the bar.

The barmaid nodded, disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with the mead. She took the coins and leant on the bar. "So, where yer from?"

"Aealdor" Merlin sighed.

"I 'eard about tha' village. The dirty scum Saxons got it."

Merlin nodded. "I escaped, just."

"Then yer a lucky bugger" The barmaid straightened up. "Yer must be touched by one o' the Gods" she added over her shoulder as she turned to serve a frail looking man.

Tyrell joined him after having a lengthy conversation with a druid who sat in a corner. "You got us a room?"

Merlin nodded and took a sip of the mead. "This place doesn't look that great." He mused.

"No, it isn't" Tyrell grimaced. "But it'll do" she drank the mead and returned the glare the barmaid was giving her.

"Saxon! What yer doin' in 'ere?" The woman stalked towards them and glared at Merlin. "Why'd yer bring that scum in 'ere?"

"She's my friend." Merlin glared back, the anger already flaring inside his belly. "She saved my life and as far as you're concerned it's none of your business why she's travelling with me." With that they got to their feet and ascended the steep timber stairs to the traveller's quarters.

The rooms were simple; square and with unstable looking timber floorboards. Smoke drifted up between the cracks in them. Two simple pallets lay in the corner and the room was lit by hazy sunlight filtering in through a small shuttered window. The walls were thin, so conversations in the adjacent room could easily be heard.

"This will do for one night" Tyrell sighed.

"I'm sorry…for what she said." Merlin broke the awkward silence, punctuated by a loud argument that had started up in the tavern below.

"She had every right to say it. I'm a Saxon, Merlin, what else do I expect?"

"They shouldn't judge you" Merlin rubbed his back; the aching had resumed.

"I've been judged my whole life. I'm used to it." Tyrell laid the two pelts on the pallets and threw Merlin a strip of dried deer meat. They ate in silence.

Evening came fast and Merlin and Tyrell slept solidly as drinkers came and went from the Tavern and dogs barked in the village. The flames still flickered in Merlin's dreams and he flinched away from them unconsciously, letting out small whimpers, but he didn't wake once.

Morning broke and Merlin watched as a sliver of orange cracked the darkness and slid up above the brow of the forest covered hill. The black sky bled into pink and darkened into purples and eventually blue. Dogs barked in the town and tangles of smoke from cooking fires spiralled into the sky. But in the distance a thin plume of darker smoke was visible. Another village had been lost to The Saxons. Merlin sighed and turned back towards the room.

"We need to leave" Tyrell stood by the open door, frowning at the dead rat that had been nailed to the door as a feeble attempt to repel Tyrell's 'Saxon evil'. She sighed and picked up her pelt. She handed Merlin another strip of dried meat and packed his pelt away too. "How's your back?" she broke the silence.

"It hurts a little" he admitted. "But it's doing okay."

"The stitches are holding?"

"You stitched it?" Merlin felt under his tunic and sure enough felt the thick stitches criss-crossing the deep wound.

"I had to, unless you want it to get infected and kill you slowly?" Tyrell slung the packs over her back and walked to the door.

"No, of course. Thank you."

"It's what I do." She left and Merlin followed, the rat still swinging by its tail as they passed. He said nothing.

They walked through the trees, the leaves still hung on the trees, their leaves orange and yellow and red as the seasons of summer and autumn melded together. They provided cool shade from the warm sun and the earthy smell made Merlin feel at home. They picked their way through the trees, some of the trunks were huge and the trees towered above them, an indication of their age. The forest was mostly made up of yew, shot through with elm, silver birch and conifers. Small herbs and shrubs grew around the bases and Turrell scraped lichen and mosses from the trees they passed and placed them in her pouch. "They're useful for medicine" she explained when she caught Merlin watching with a quizzical expression on his face.

That afternoon, they stopped in a clearing to rest. They sat cross-legged on their packs and chewed on the last strips of dried venison Tyrell had been carrying.

"I'm sorry I don't talk much." Tyrell eventually said, swallowing the last mouthful. "It's just…" she sighed. "I'm not used to having…someone to talk to."

"It's okay" Merlin smiled. "I'm your friend."

Turrell looked at him. "…really?"

"Really." Merlin smiled back. "You saved my life. You deserve at least a friend for that!"

Tyrell laughed. "Merlin" she said. "My friend. My friend Merlin!"

They both laughed and walked on in the late summer sun, heading for the nex town on their long journey to Camelot.


	3. Chapter 3

*Author's note* Sorry for the slightly longer gap, I start college tomorrow so I've been pretty pre-occupied with getting stuff sorted with that. Don't worry though, I'll keep writing when I have the time! Enjoy the chapter

"Wyrren!" Tyrell smiled as they passed the sign and strode into the town. It was a small town, with eight large cottages facing the communal well in the centre. Behind them in a wider U shape lay more cottages. It was surrounded on three sides by thick forests, protecting it from the bitter winds that sang through the trees during winter gales. Behind the houses lay a storehouse and a stable, where Tyrell was heading to purchase us a steed each. On the side not protected by the forest was a small field full of corn almost ready for harvest. "We won't get there for much longer if we walk everywhere, Merlin!" She seemed happier now she had a friend, and Merlin felt happy too.

The horse dealer handed Merlin the reigns to a dappled young grey mare. She stood at a good twelve hands and had large brown eyes and darkened in tone around her muzzle and hooves. On her forehead there was a dark patch in the shape of a shield. She pawed the ground, snuffling at Merlin's tunic as the dealer made more arrangements with Tyrell. The roan stallion she was inspecting was led away and replaced by a larger black mare with shaggy fetlocks and stood impressive with the reigns in her slender hands. She inspected the animal and found no faults, and paid the dealer the strangely low price for such a magnificent steed. "I'll warn you, the black one's a right handful." He warned, and then his voice took on a boastful tone; "I seized her myself, from a Saxon I killed. Buried my knife right into his belly, I did, and how he screamed for mercy! Well I think that was what he said; I don't speak that filthy tongue."

Tyrell's eyes took on a cold look. "Don't boast" she spoke softly. "Don't boast about how you killed one of my kind, a stranger, for no reason other than his strangeness."

She also purchased a saddle for each of the horses and they rode from the village. About a mile away, they discovered the reason for the low price. Tyrell's mare began bucking and pirouetting in a desperate attempt to throw her off. She sat stayed on, squeezing the saddle tightly with her knees and both hands grasping the thick black mane. Merlin pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, praying that horse wouldn't bolt back towards Wyrren and leave him steedless once more. The horse stood patiently, much to Merlin's relief, watching with what seemed to be an amused look in her eyes. Merlin leapt in front of the bucking beast and gripped the bridle with both hands, forcing it to keep it's head still. He grabbed the bit and used the belt gathering his tunic about his waist to lash the bridle to his horse's saddle. "She's been trained to buck her riders off and head back to the stables where she'll be fed and the dealer will be a few more ingots better off!" He looked back at the horse, which now stood, pawing the ground angrily at being restrained. "Now listen to me, you're ours now and you must behave." He gave the bridle another tug to emphasise the point. The mare took a step forward and whinnied. "Yes, I know, but you're important. The Saxons are coming, see? And we need to get to Camelot as fast as possible." Merlin spoke to the animal as if it was a human, and Tyrell watched in amazement as the horse responded with a whinny as Merlin gave another gentler tug and, slowly, the mare took step after step, Merlin's own mare walking patiently along beside it. After several minutes, Merlin let go of the bridle, and stood ready to grab it again, but the mare just plodded along and Merlin remounted his mare and together they rode to the next town.

Dusk was rapidly approaching as the two riders rode into the town of Camrys. The town, like the others they had passed, was small. It lacked a well, but that was made up for by the fast flowing freshwater stream that ran its way through the village. A small bridge led over it towards the main bunch of squat cottages; four large cottages flanked the main entrance road on the other side of the stream, accompanied by a small tavern from which the familiar smell of alcohol drifted, mixed with the smoky scent of wood fires and smoking fish caught from the stream.

"We'll stop here tonight" Tyrell sat back in her saddle, stretched her tired arms and yawned. A pack of hunting dogs barked to herald the stranger's arrival and faces appeared in the doorways of the cottages and tavern.

"Shut it!" A tall slender looking man emerged from the cottage the dogs were tethered outside and clapped his hands loudly. The dogs silenced. He approached the two, frowning at Tyrell but smiling at Merlin, who sat weary and dirty faced in the saddle. "State your business" he spoke in a harsh tone that wasn't warm or friendly at all. His face was long, bony and pinched, with deep set, dark brown eyes that seemed suspicious. A scar ran down his left cheek, stopping at the end of his jaw, giving his face a slightly lopsided look. He wore warrior rings in his wiry brown beard and his face was framed by shoulder length hair the same colour as his eyes.

"My friend and I are merely stopping to rest on our journey to the great Camelot. We rush to tell the king the Saxons have broken the border." Merlin glanced at Tyrell and looked back at the man. "I pray good sir there is somewhere for us to sleep? We are weary from our journey." He smiled warmly.

"Where yers from?" His voice was slightly gruff and his arms were folded. Merlin noticed he had two fingers missing from his left hand and scars criss-crossing both arms.

"Aealdor" Merlin's voice caught as he spoke the name of his old village. "It was destroyed by the Saxons." He looked down. "They killed my mother. We alone escaped."

The man spat on the floor and touched one of the grey loops of metal in his beard. "Filthy bastards, the lot of 'em. Fought 'em myself, in too many battles to count." Merlin looked at him expectantly.

"We'll pay for your hospitality" Tyrell dug a handful of gold from her pack. The man looked at her. "I ain't takin' nothin' from you, Saxon. You pillage that lot? You _scum._"

Tyrell calmly placed the gold back in her pack. "Come on then, Merlin. It seems we aren't wanted here. We'll ride to Caric; I hear they have a Merchant's square there." She spoke haughtily as she turned the horses to leave.

"Wait" The man couldn't stand to see them leaving with gold he could have taken for himself; winter was coming and he desperately needed to prepare for the bitter cold that would inevitably descend upon Britain.

Tyrell hid a smile and turned back to face him."Yes?"

"I was hasty. I can't put you up but my wife will sure feed yers at least" He forced a smile and they dismounted, tethering their horses with the dogs outside.

"Anwen! We have guests!" He shouted as they crossed the threshold. "I'm Bors, by the way." He extended his hand.

"Merlin" Merlin shook it politely. "And this is Tyrell."

Tyrell smiled and nodded politely. They sat down and Merlin took in the surroundings.

Bors' cottage wasn't dissimilar to the one Merlin had dwelled in back in Aealdor. The door had fallen off at some point and leant on the wattle and daub wall, awaiting repair. An old, patched woollen cloak hung in the gap. In the corner an old shield leant on the wall, painted with an unfamiliar standard of a running hare. A helmet sat next to it, a simple iron dome with the chariot of Modron painted on one side and the same running hare on the other. A crest of hare fur ran down the centre, but it was matted and moth-eaten now, and the paint chipped in places. A fire burned in an alcove at the back of the room, the smoke gathering in the rafters before catching the wind and escaping through the smoke-hole in the centre of the thatch roof. Around the fire pelts had been laid over thick cut logs which served as chairs, on which the three people sat enjoying the warmth from the fire.

"Bors? Who is it?" A woman appeared from another room built onto the main room and stopped when she saw Turrell. She was tall, like Bors and had long mouse-brown hair that hung to her waist and a wide strong jawed face. It was lined, but kind looking with hazel eyes flecked with green. She pursed her lips but said nothing.

"This is Merlin and Tyrell. They're tired and hungry. And so am I."

"I got broth" she looked at Tyrell suspiciously, but shook her head and disappeared back into the room. She returned with three bowls of broth. They ate ravenously.

Merlin finished the food, the warmth settling comfortably in his belly. He smiled at Anwen. "Thank you, Anwen." He bowed his head courteously. Anwen grunted her acceptance and took the empty bowls into the separate room.

"You say The Saxons have breached our border?" Bors turned to Merlin with worried eyes.

Merlin nodded. "Yes, they have. I fear now a war in the spring will be inevitable."

They all knew the oncoming winter would halt the ravaging Saxons. The land would become locked by snow and ice, and bitter blizzards would sweep across the moorlands in a dizzying sheet of falling whiteness. The rivers would freeze over and travelling anywhere would become treacherous.

Bors looked at the shield and spear lain against the wall, and touched the iron handle of the sword at his belt to avert evil. "I never thought I'd have to fight again. I've seen so many battles, Merlin. So many friends and good men die, and for what? A piece of land at the least!" He spat on the ground. "I hoped I'd be dead by the time the Saxons came." He looked at Tyrell warily. "Why do you travel with her?"

"She was a slave," Merlin lied.

Bors nodded. "I see."

Merlin and Tyrell eventually left Bors' home, gratefully thanking for the warmth and food, and Tyrell handed him a fist full of ingots for the basket of smoked fish and dried meats he had given them. "Tell them at Clan-Ludd that you're friends of Bors." The man smiled, showing his mouth full of missing teeth and raised a hand in farewell. "May the gods speed your journey!" He called as they cantered into the darkness.

Sometime during the night, the rain came. It started as a gentle drizzle; a pitter patter of droplets between the trees but within an hour it had grown into a torrential downpour that pounded the dark road in front of them, pelting them with cold, hard droplets and soaking them through. It fell ever heavier, driven by a strong wind that had picked up from the north and muffling out the sound of the horse's hooves as they galloped towards Clan Ludd. The glow of fire in the distance told them that the Saxons were close and they had no time to lose. They passed town after town but did not stop; they needed to make it to the fort, and fast.

Morning raised slowly, the thick cloud hiding the orange orb of the sun as it rose. The dawn was grey and damp, and although the rain had left in the thickest darkness that lay just before dawn, the wind still persisted and it battered at their faces as they cantered up the track that led to the small merchant town that lay in the distance. Their horses were panting and foaming with sweat from the long gallop, but they seemed to know they were almost there as they plodded towards the battered wooden sign that declared the town's name of _Isca. _It groaned and swayed in the wind with an eerie sound that reminded Merlin painfully of the screams of his townsfolk as they burnt under the Saxon's flames. He shook the memory from his head and dismounted and walked to stretch his tired legs. He led his horse by the bridle. Tyrell did the sameand they smiled at eachother for what seemed like the first time in a long time. Tyrell's smile lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. Her hair was lifted by the wild and blew around her head like a golden halo. She frowned at its unruliness and Merlin laughed, relief washing over the both of them. They had made it through the night.


	4. Chapter 4

*Authors Note* I'm so sorry I haven't updated. I started college and was landed with a ridiculous amount of homework, and then some issues came up and I just haven't been up to writing anything. I hope you don't mind. I'll try and get the next chapter up ASAP!

Merlin sat down heavily on the ground and closed his eyes, enjoying the well earned rest. The horses snorted and panted, the reigns held loosely in his hand as they snuffled around the grassy floor, searching for tasty leftover acorns from spring. He was tired and his back was throbbing where the wound had been stretched from the long hours in the saddle. He reached his hand around to feel it and jumped at the sting of his touch.

"You look exhausted" Tyrell sat down heavily behind him and stretched, her stiff joints cracking loudly. "How's your back?"

"Sore" Merlin shifted his position, his tired muscles protesting painfully. "Where are we anyway?"

"A day's ride from Clan-Ludd." She handed Merlin a handful of juniper berries she'd found on the way through the forest to the clearing and he ate them slowly, savouring their sweet, sharp taste.

"We travelled that far?" He asked through the berries.

"Mmm-hmm" Tyrell had cleared a patch of grass and was starting to light a small fire. The day was starting to fade and the shadows slowly growing between the trees. "We should get to Clan-Ludd late tomorrow evening if we ride continuously."

Merlin was quiet for a while, and his thoughts drifted back to that night which seemed so long ago but was so vivid in his mind. "Why did I escape?" He asked aloud, and then became aware of Tyrell's blue eyes staring at him.

"You survived, Merlin, because you have a destiny. The gods have chosen you for something; though what that something is I don't know."

"But why me? What have I got? Nothing." He brought his legs up and rested his chin on them, arms locked around his legs. "What if I don't want a destiny?"

"Nobody can choose their destiny, Merlin. You can choose what you put into your destiny, but the destiny itself remains set; your life will run up to that moment, no matter how much you try to avoid it." She sighed and sat back from the now well developed fire. "You can choose your destiny no more than you can choose your birth. It was my destiny to be born a Saxon, and yours to be born a Celt. It doesn't matter whether or not you want it; it will happen anyway." She opened her pack and threw Merlin a blanket. "It's late; you're tired. Get some sleep and I'll watch. I'll wake you up in a few hours."  
>"Thanks" Merlin mumbled, still digesting the Saxon's words. He lay on the grass, using his pack as a pillow and fell asleep almost immediately.<p>

Merlin jolted awake with a gasp. Tyrell was shaking him awake, the worry on her face illuminated by the glowing embers of the fire. "Merlin?" she hissed.

"Mmmm what's going on?" He sat up and yawned, but he was brought fully awake by a crack in the darkness beyond the fire's glowing reach. "What was that?" he whispered?

"I don't know" She whispered back. She picked up a branch end from the fire and held it in the heart of the embers so the tip flared into life. "Who's there?" She called out and swept the makeshift torch about, startling the horses that whinnied nervously at the sinister presence hidden in the inky blackness that had descended upon the forest. "Take this" Tyrell handed Merlin the branch and picked her bow up from where it had been leaning against a nearby tree. "If you're out there, I hope to the gods you stay away from us!"

Another crack sounded, closer this time. Merlin's heart started to thump as panic set in. "Don't!"

"Shhhh" Tyrell sent him a quick nervous grin and turned back towards the darkness. They stood like that for what seemed like hours, poised to fight off what had to be bandits. Nothing happened, and the silence pressed in, punctuated by the sounds of the forest at night. A fox yowled somewhere, and further off an owl hooted. Tyrell slowly placed her bow back against the trees and quietly sat back down. "Shhhh" she said again. "Nobody there, you can go back to sleep" she said a little louder. Merlin shuffled back towards where he had been sleeping, trying to make as little noise as possible and shooting questioning looks at the Saxon who sat calmly poking the embers and piling more dried leaves onto them so that the fire grew again and small flames licked at the darkness, casting dancing shadows on their faces and across the gnarled bark of the trunks of the trees surrounding them.

Another snap sounded a few metres into the darkness. Merlin sat bolt upright and took the hunting knife from its sheath, taking sideways glances at Tyrell who had retrieved her bow. "I warned you!" she let an arrow fly into the darkness and a muffled gasp pierced the silence. It was Followed by a heavy thud. Merlin looked at Tyrell, open mouthed. She just winked. "Practice" was all she said.

Suddenly a strong hand covered Merlin's mouth and another one snaked around his chest. He smelt rancid breath as he was dragged backwards into the darkness. "Quiet you or I'll spill your guts faster than your friend can shoot" A low menacing voice spoke into his ear. Merlin could smell ale and sweat and the stench made him retch. He stopped struggling as he felt the cold blade of a knife pressed against his throat. "Strange, isn't it?" The voice spoke again. "How far away you must be, all alone in the forest at night. How nobody will find your bodies until they're rotting and stinking bones. Nobody will know you're gone and your shadows will wander lost across the earth forever. Your friend, oh yes, I'll kill her last. I'll have fun with her first, you know. And I'll let you listen to her scream as you die." Merlin stayed silent; he knew this man was saying it to make him angry, and he trembled with the effort of keeping the urge to fight at bay. He felt something boiling inside him, though, and it grew and grew, a great heat building up in his soul and suddenly it released and the hold was released and he stumbled to the floor, the man swearing uncontrollably. Before he could think an incantation ripped itself from his lips, alien and strange words flowing from his tongue and a ball of light shot from his palm. The man gave a little scream before lying silent. Shaking, Merlin crept back to the clearing and retrieved the branch-torch. He re approached the man who had so very nearly killed him and kicked him hard. No movement from him. His eyes were open and vacant, mouth slightly slack. He was dead. Quickly, Merlin shut his eyes and said a quick prayer to Arwn and Hafgan to speed the man's journey to Annwn, the otherworld. After that, he picked up the knife and carried it back to Tyrell. "He's dead" he announced solemnly. He was exhausted, and whatever had just happened to him had completely drained him.

"You used magic" Tyrell said after a long time.

"That's what it was?" Merlin looked across at her, suddenly worried he'd done something wrong. "Is it bad?"

"No. Well, yes, here, but no, Merlin. Having magic is not bad."

"What do you mean yes here?"

"It's banned in Camelot, Merlin. It's punishable by death."

"Oh." Merlin looked into the flames. "Will I be killed now then? I did just…kill him." He nodded back towards where the body lay.

"No. Nobody saw you, and nobody will know."

"You saw"

"I said nobody will know, Merlin."

"Thanks" Merlin yawned heavily. "You okay?"

"Yes" Tyrell got to her feet and gathered the horses. "We need to leave here."

Merlin heaved himself to his feet and without arguing collected his blanket and pack and slung them on his back. Tyrell stamped out the fire, after making another torch and handing it to Merlin to light their way back onto the road. They would ride to Clan-Ludd that night.

Dawn broke slowly, the peachy glow heralding another sunny day. Merlin was exhausted, and had resigned himself to just concentrating on staying upright in the saddle. His mind would not stop replaying the incident in the night.

As they began climbing the hill atop which the majestic fort of Clan-Ludd stood, Merlin could hear the barking of dogs and shouts of men. Behind him the hill sloped down to meet a fast flowing stream and beyond that the dark gloom of the forest began. In the distance spires of smoke indicated a village that must have been destroyed in the night. The Saxons were advancing fast.

"Merlin" Tyrell hissed. He whipped his head round to see they were approaching the gates. He could see spearmen on the ramparts, the sharp points of their weapons pointing at the sky. He overtook Tyrell and knew she would have to take the guise of his servant once more. They brought their horses to a halt beside the gate and waited as the heavy bolts were drawn back and a short but strong looking man stepped out to greet them.

"State yourselves." He demanded, frowning at them.

"We have come a long way." Merlin spoke breathlessly. "To alert Uther's men of Saxons breaching the border."

The man looked at him for a few minutes, his dark brown eyes gauging them both. "Who are you?" He asked, folding his tattooed arms over his leather breastplate.

"My name is Merlin ap Balinor, sir. And this is my servant, Tyrell. We are friends of Bors." Merlin gestured to Tyrell, who bowed her head in greeting. "We have travelled far, from the village of Aealdor, which is sadly no more. The Saxons took it, and only we escaped."

The man seemed to believe them, for he stepped aside and called for the gates to be opened. "I shall take you to see Gawain; he is the leader of the men here."

"Thank you." Merlin smiled back towards Tyrell and they rode through the impressive gates and into Clan-Ludd.


	5. Chapter 5

"Your village was destroyed?" Gawain eyed Merlin, taking in his tired looking, dirty face.

Merlin nodded. "Yes. Only we escaped, as far as I know." He sighed. "We have ridden through the night to reach you, and intend to continue to Camelot to seek safety."

"I see." The tall man put a heavy hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Clan-Ludd will offer you sanctuary for as long as you wish. Preparations are already underway to drive those dirty Saxons back to their filthy hovels they call villages. The High King and Crowned Prince of Camelot is on his way as we speak to oversee us, and is bringing his own band of men to join the fight. Your message has been well received, my friend, and your efforts to carry it with the speed of the wind are well appreciated." He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. His face was framed by a well trimmed dark brown beard, and hair of the same colour fell to his shoulders. He wore a scarlet tunic under which he wore a woollen jerkin and an impressive looking coat of chain mail. Over his chest, secured by leather straps, was a thick leather breastplate. In a sheath at his hip swung a long sword. Leaning against his leg was a heavy looking willowboard shield over which was glued a patch of leather painted scarlet, the yellow-gold dragon emblem of Camelot contrasting and standing out, making Gawain's war gear look even more impressive. In his right hand he gripped a long spear, its sharp steel point poking the air a metre above the tall knight's head. Merlin knew the damage those spears could do, and he eyed it nervously. "You and your…servant," he eyed Tyrell with a little more contempt before returning his gaze to Merlin, "will have the guest quarters. Willow will show you to them."

He turned and bellowed the name, and a girl appeared at the back of the hall. "Yes, Gawain, sire?"

"Show these visitors to the guest quarters." He waved his arm towards Merlin and Tyrell and gestured for them to leave the hall. "Oh, and tell Argante to come and see me."

"Yes, sire." Willow hurried towards them and led them from the hall and back out into the chilled air. Merlin studied her as she walked, in much the same way he had done with Tyrell. She wasn't as tall as his Saxon friend, but she walked with a similar gait that was confident and fast, moving with purpose. She had short dark brown hair and wore a simple linen tunic that fell to way below her knees, gathered at the waist with a leather belt upon which hung a sheathed hunting knife and underneath a pair of woollen leggings. On her feet she wore worn looking leather boots that reached to her ankles.

After a few minutes, they were standing beside a small wooden door. Willow opened the door and led them into the room. "Here you go" She smiled. "Bit simple but its better than most." She opened the shutters covering the window and a breeze immediately poured in, stirring the musty air. She turned and smiled at Merlin. "You can wash in the stream at the bottom of the caer; you look like you could do with it."

"Thank you." Merlin smiled at the servant. Willow had a broad face, with a pointed chin and full lipped mouth that formed words with the soft, rolling, lilting accent of the Gaelic people that lived in the distant Hibernia. She had brown eyes that were kind and bright. He then realised she was waiting for dismissal. "You may leave." He added and smiled again at her. She returned the smile, her face lighting up and sparkles dancing across her eyes. She turned and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

The day flowed quickly after that, and soon the red glow of the dying day stained the sky, outlining the fort of Clan-Ludd as a stark black silhouette, crowning the steep caer, poking into the heavens below a ruby red stained sky. Merlin shivered as the cold, fast flowing waters of the stream washed the soot and grime from his body. He looked up at the darkening sky and smiled as the first stars appeared on the horizon, twinkling as brightly as polished armour in the sun. He climbed from the water and pulled on his clothes before leaning low over the clear water and splashing it over his face. He rose and ran a wet hand through his dripping hair. Winter was right, he had needed that wash. He blew into the freezing air, his breath swirling in a misty cloud, making him think of the mighty dragons he'd been told tales about as a young child. He pulled on his jacket and started back up the caer, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of home for too long. Somewhere in the dark forest at the foot of the caer, an owl hooted, and another returned its call, the shrill cry echoing into the dusk.

Merlin yawned as he settled down on the bed. Tyrell lay beside him, already fast asleep. He lay awake for a few moments, his mind busy collecting the events of the past month together. He missed his home, and his village. He missed how things had been in that quiet, small sanctuary where he had been born. But it was gone, and here he was, dozing in a hilltop fort, limbs aching from his long escape. But he had made it, and he had survived. And he had a friend. A friend who had shared the adventure with him and the adventure that was still to come. And with that thought, he dozed off to sleep.

Morning broke slowly, the inky, cloak-like darkness of the night gently lightening and succumbing to the peachy glow of dawn. By the time the sun was fully up, the fort was a buzz of excitement and a flurry of movement. The scarlet and gold banner of Camelot had been rolled out from the highest point of the ramparts and it flapped and curled in the wind, secured at one end to a long spear shaft. Another banner was draped over the rampart walls and the twin banners proudly displayed the dragon standard so clearly it could be seen from right at the bottom of the caer. On the ramparts spearmen bustled to and fro and in the compound warriors were gathering, ready to welcome their prince and his army to the small hilltop fort which was to be their gathering point before what was expected to be a long and bitter battle. Merlin stood, leaning out of the shutters and watching the preparations. He watched the servants bustling to and from the hall, carrying various pots and pans, furniture and barrels of mead, ready in preparation for the banquet that was to be held to welcome the High King and his crowned prince.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Tyrell appeared next to him, and took in the preparations going on outside.

"I don't know…" Merlin sighed and withdrew from the window.

Tyrell's face fell. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Merlin pulled the shutters closed and sat down on the bed. "It's just, all this is happening so fast. I don't know where to go next. I'm scared, Tyrell. I now have no clue what the future holds for me, what's going to happen?"

"Welcome to my world." The Saxon smiled at him. "Everything will be fine. The Gods will make sure of it."

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but from outside came a great clamour of noise. Together they rushed to the window to see the High King, Crowned prince and a great army of spearmen advancing up the slope. Gawain's spearmen were cheering atop the ramparts and beating their heavy spear shafts against their shields.

Uther rode astride a white stallion, bigger than any Merlin had ever seen. Across its chest was a large plate of metal, strapped around its neck on thick leather belts. It proudly displayed the dragon emblem and the horse tossed it's mane as it strode towards the fort. Behind the king came the prince, on a similar horse. His was jet black, making the scarlet emblem on the plate stand out even more brightly under the warm wintry sun. The king and prince were rode parallel to on either side by two banner bearers, who carried two tall shafts with the banner of Camelot stretched proudly between them. It swelled and snapped in the wind caught by the red dyed linen.

As they reached the gate, Gawain stood in the centre of the courtyard, ready to welcome his royal guests. "Open the gates!" He cried, and the heavy oak doors were heaved open, and through them came the king, to great cheers from the gathered warriors. He pulled his horse to a stop and raised a hand in greeting. "Gawain!" He cried, and grinned at the man.

"Your majesty!" Gawain bowed to his king and rose smiling. He gestured to the fort. "Welcome to Clan-Ludd!" He nodded to Arthur, "And Prince Arthur! Welcome, welcome, my friends!"

Merlin watched from the window, the excitement gathering. He gazed at the king, the ruthless Uther Pendragon, the man he had been told about and imagined for so long. And there he was. "Come on!" He grabbed Tyrell's arm and together they ran to the courtyard. Panting, they joined the throng of warriors. Merlin laughed, the mixture of feelings becoming too great for him to hold inside. He gave a cry and joined the cheers that echoed into the light blue sky. The king was here, and the army was gathering. And in that moment, Merlin knew that the gods had saved him for a reason. They had saved him so that he could be there, and fight alongside his king to free Britain of it's Saxons, once and for all.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin strode across the hall floor, eyes fixed on the prince. He took a seat at the long bench like table and grinned at Tyrell, who was already swigging mead from a metal tankard. He returned his gaze to the prince, who was leaning back on his seat deep in conversation with Gawain. The king sat a few feet away, slowly sipping from a silver goblet and watching the banquet through cold pale eyes. He was clean shaven, in the way Celts were, with short greying hair and a lean looking face, marked by a scar on his left cheek. He contrasted with his son, who sat smiling and laughing at one of Gawain's stories. Arthur had fair hair that fell to just below his ears, piercing electric blue eyes and a strong, handsome jawline. He too was clean shaven.

"Merlin!" Gawain strode towards Merlin, his voice cutting through his thoughts, a big smile on his face. He clapped a hand heavily on his shoulder, making Merlin almost spill his mead.

"Hello." He spluttered, quickly swallowing the mouthful of pork he had been chewing.

"My good friend Arthur would like to meet you. I told him of your uh…plight. He says he might be able to help you."

"Oh…well I'll be honoured." He flashed a worried glance towards Tyrell, who waved him on energetically with her hand, smiling widely.

"Arthur, my lord, this is Merlin." Gawain gestured to Merlin, who smiled and stuck out his hand.

"Hello...Merlin" Arthur shook Merlin's hand quickly. "I hear you've seen these Saxons attack firsthand?"

"Yes," Merlin nodded, "I have. And they're terrible creatures. They destroyed my village. Only myself and a serving girl survived the attack."

"I've heard so, yes. I'm pained for your loss."

Merlin bowed his head. "It wasn't you to blame."

"Tell me, Merlin, can you wield a sword?"

Merlin looked at him and nodded. "Yes, a little. I was taught by Aealdor's blacksmith, though I prayed to the gods I'd never need to use it in battle."

"Didn't we all?" Arthur sighed. "There's talk from the borders that the Saxon army is over three thousand strong, with more arriving in boats from the western shores as we speak. I'll need all the help I can get, all the men in the kingdom who can fight."

Merlin looked at his hands and imagined a heavy sword in them, his skin and tunic stained scarlet with the blood of the Saxons. A shudder rippled through him but he suppressed it and looked at the prince, and then at the King. He nodded. "I can fight."

Arthur nodded once. "Tell me, Merlin, do you have any other skills?"

Merlin thought for a minute. "My mother was a healer. I've watched her patch up injuries and heal sickness since I was a child. With some tutoring I think I could do the same." He stopped himself there before he revealed his other talent; the one which Tyrell had told him would get him executed before sunrise. "And I can hunt."

"Well, Merlin. My father and I will be returning to Camelot on the morrow. Gawain tells me Gaius is your uncle?"

Merlin looked at Gawain, surprised the prince already knew so much about him. Gawain gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. "Yes, my lord. I was hoping to reach Camelot to seek refuge and help from him. And bring him the news of…of my mother's death." The pain hit him again in his chest. His heart seemed to miss a beat as he thought of his mother's screams, the shouts and cries and roar of flames that engulfed the houses on that terrible night.

"Gaius is my father's chief advisor. I'm surprised he never mentioned you."

Merlin shrugged. "I have not seen him since I was a very young child, my lord."

"Be ready at sunrise. You may ride with us to Camelot."

Merlin smiled in gratitude and bowed his head. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you."

Arthur smiled and nodded. Merlin turned and walked shakily back towards Tyrell, barely concealing the grin that was threatening to split his face in two.

Arthur watched as the strange boy he had just spoken to walked back down the hall. He had somehow entranced him and he couldn't explain it. There had been something in those calm blue eyes that burned with a passion. There was something in the way that he spoke, with such quiet compassion but yet with a heavy undertone of desperation and anger. His pale skin and pale eyes suggested that he had a Nordic lineage, but his thick hair and accent and ways were unmistakably Celtic. He watched as Merlin sat down on the bench next to the Saxon girl he had spotted with him that morning. The two were engrossed in conversation, Merlin gesticulating wildly with his hands. He smiled to himself; he had a feeling his decision would prove to be worth his while.

The evening went by in a blur for Merlin and the morning dawn far too quickly. Just as the darkness of the night was breaking and the distant orange orb of the sun broke the brow if the hill, he sat nervously astride his horse. Tyrell sat behind on hers, looking quite comfortable and anticipant of the coming journey. Ahead rode the guards, enclosing the prince and the king in an impenetrable envelope of horses and armour and spears and willowboard shields. The army that had arrived remained at the caer, camped outside the walls in what was quickly resembling a small village of rawhide tents, campfires sending lazy spires of smoke into the crisp dawn air. Clan-Ludd was silent except from the quiet whinnying and snorting of the horses and hushed conversation between the assembled men. Gawain strode from his quarters across the compound and grasped Uther's hand in his own. "Travel safely, my lord. May the Gods add speed to your journey."

"Thank you, Gawain." The king nodded his gratitude. "We should arrive in Camelot by evening, if the weather and strength of our horses are in our favour."

Gawain nodded and agreed with the king, before moving on and gripping Arthur's hand in the same fashion. "Good luck, prince, I wish you and your companions luck on your journey. I shall see you again before the great fight, I know that much." He smiled and the prince smiled back, releasing his hand from Gawain's grip. Uther raised a hand and the group started into motion.

Merlin squeezed his legs into the worn leather saddle, clinging to the reins tightly. The horse whinnied and followed the ones in front and soon they had sped up to a jolting trot. The fort grew smaller behind them and Merlin glanced back over his shoulders to catch Gawain leaning on the heavy gatepost, a sad look in his eyes. He looked forward again, settling into the horse's motion and soon the caer and Clan-Ludd was tiny in the distance behind him. And it finally sunk in; they were on the way to Camelot.


	7. Chapter 7

*authors note* HEY GUYS I'M WRITING AGAIN! Yeah, I've had a lot of stuff going on recently stopping me from being able to write, but my desire to write has returned to me! Yay! So yeah, I'm continuing this story and I'm so sorry I abandoned it for so long. I HOPE YOU DON'T ALL HATE ME NOW!

Merlin gasped as they crowned the hill and Camelot was revealed. It stood tall and majestic in the dwindling daylight, the orange glow from the setting sun staining the walls gold and the shadows orange. From its turrets flew flags bearing the gold-yellow Camelot Dragon standard on a blood scarlet background and smoke spiralled its way from the fires in the village clustered around the castle, spilling down the sides of the hill. At the bottom the ground levelled out and began to grow wilder and become the cool forest Merlin had begun to think of as home. The whole scene was painted against a sky vibrant with colour as the day drew to a close. Clouds stained bright pink scudded across the backdrop that was almost navy and bled gradually down to a faint peach-orange glow where the sun's light was just reaching. The horses picked up pace as they began to climb the gentle slope, sensing they were nearly home. Merlin looked across at Tyrell, a smile stretched across his face. "_We made it!_" he mouthed.

"_Yes, but now it's the tricky bit of fitting in!_" Tyrell looked a little worried, and worry stabbed in the pit of Merlin's stomach too. As a Saxon, would Tyrell be tolerated in the heart of Uther's kingdom?

The horses' hooves echoed on the stone floors of the castle's courtyard. The castle's gates were impressive; heavy oak doors with an iron port-cullis on runs housed above, ready to come crashing down with a pull on the thick horsehair ropes hanging to one side, held fast by an iron ring. The castle was made out of a pale stone, chiselled and cut perfectly. It was beautiful in contrast to the squat little wooden caer fort of Clan-Ludd. In the courtyard, the horses stopped, snorting and sweating from the long journey. The knights dismounted, and stable-servants rushing forward to take the horses away to be watered, fed and rubbed down. Arthur and Uther dismounted and immediately the prince made his way towards Merlin and Tyrell.

"Welcome" he eyed them both with his kind pale eyes. "I shall arrange stable space for your steeds. Gaius has his quarters inside the castle, a short walk from here. I'll get a servant to show you to him. I hope he can help you in these dark times."

Merlin bowed his head in gratitude. For a prince, Arthur was kind to even speak with a villager and his Saxon servant, let alone show courtesy towards them and especially not within his own castle. The prince called over a servant called Daxifur, a name Merlin recognised as Saxon for a fat type root his mother had used for medicine.

Daxifur was short and simply dressed in a woollen tunic with a worn leather jacket covering his arms, freying at the sleeve cuffs. He wore thin leggings and hide boots on his feet and constantly twisted his hands in and out of eachother as though he was perpetually nervous. He had a round face with a crop of light blonde hair and grey eyes which were wide and gentle and a little fearful. Arthur asked him to show them to Gaius' chambers and he nodded swiftly, and gestured to Merlin to follow him. Silently, the servant led them through a low wooden door into the castle and down a long passageway, down some steps and to another wooden door. Gently, he knocked four times and a voice was heard on the other side.

"Yes?" Daxifur knocked again and leant on the wall beside the door. It opened to reveal an old looking man with silver-grey hair and the same blue eyes as Arthur had had. He wore a long robe that brushed the ground with a pattern on the back. It was tied at the neck with simple leather strings. "Ah, hello Daxifur." He smiled and looked at Merlin and Tyrell. "Are these for me?" Daxifur nodded and Merlin realised he must be mute. "Come in, come in and take a seat. Thank you, Daxifur. You can go." Gaius reached over and placed a dumpling in the boy's hand. "Don't tell anyone!" The boy tapped his nose with a smile and bowed his head in thanks before disappearing further into the castle.

"Gaius? I'm Merlin….Hunith's son."

"Merlin? My boy how you've grown!" Gaius guided him into a chair, a smile highlighting the lines on his face. "Never thought I'd see you in Camelot! What brings you here?"

Merlin sighed and looked at the floor. "Saxons." He mumbled, forcing himself to look at his mother's brother. "They…they took Aealdor." His voice was barely a whisper, what he could get out catching in his throat. "It's gone."

"Oh, Merlin. What about your mother?"

"I…Didn't…..she didn't….she's in Annwn now." Tears prickled at Merlin's eyes and welled, threatening to spill over.

"Merlin…" Gaius reached forward and took the boy into his arms. Pressing him tight against his chest, he hugged him hard. "Oh my dear Merlin." He looked across at Tyrell, who sat on a wooden stall quietly looking around herself at the room. "Who's this, Merlin?"

Merlin raised his head from his uncle's chest and looked across at his friend. "Tyrell" he mumbled. "She saved my life. She's my friend."

"Tyrell, that's Saxon isn't it?"

Tyrell nodded. "Yes, sir. I was born Saxon but I live as a Celt."

Gaius nodded. "I am grateful for your efforts to save my nephew. Saxon or Celt, you are welcome in my quarters."

She bowed her head in gratitude. It was the first time she had been accepted anywhere regardless of her race and the physician's words meant a lot to her. "Thank you."

Merlin had wiped his face and watched as Gaius moved about what he took to be his infirmary. The room was long, with a solid looking oak table in the centre and timber benches either side. A simple worktop lined the outside wall, with small windows above it letting in the hazy gold-tinged light from the autumnal sunset outside. It was cluttered with bowls and boxes and jars of liquids and piles of thick doorstops of books. A six legged salamander sat curled in a large glass jar and next to it a rack stocked with bunches of dried herbs. Around the walls were floor to ceiling shelves crammed with even more books. More than Merlin had ever seen in his life, and more than he ever dreamed to read. A rickety wooden ladder on runners leant against the volumes. By the wall opposite to the worktop were stacked raised pallets made from strong hide stretched between four legs and a frame made from what looked like elm. Piled on them were various fur pelts and pillows made from sheepswool stuffed with chicken and goose feathers. A small door lead to the side into what Merlin took to be a storage cupboard for brooms and food. A fire burned under a brick smokestack and its warmth radiated around the whole room, making it cosy and homely. At the back of the room there were two steps and a closed door that lead into what Merlin presumed was the sleeping quarters. The room was so different to the simple wattle and daub and thatch cottage he had lived in, and a world away from the smoky, creaky and raucous taverns they had slept in on their travels.

"There's a banquet in the hall tonight, to welcome the king and prince home and to wish them luck in the coming war." Gaius sat down opposite Merlin and slid steaming cups of thin looking soup to him and Tyrell. His voice was sad towards the end of the sentence.

"It's probable I'll fight." Said Merlin, taking a sip of the warm liquid. "As my father did and to protect these lands I was born in."

Gaius looked at him with sad old eyes. "You're so young, Merlin. It's so dangerous out there. Men don't come back and those who do are never the same." His old hand gripped Merlin's tightly. "Uther's got a whole army ready, made from the finest warriors in all of Camelot. And his allied kings in Mercia and Powys have armies thousands strong."

"I have to, Uncle. It's what the gods have chosen for me. I know it in my bones." Merlin sighed. He was sad the subject of war had been brought up so soon, and so he changed the conversation. "Would it be alright, Uncle, if I could stay here?"

Gaius' eyes lit up once more. A smile cracked across his serious, lined face. "Of course, my boy! I'll take you on, and Tyrell, as apprentices! Oh, the king will love it. It's been years since I had students!" He reached across and ruffled Merlin's thick, raven black hair. "Just like your father's." He smiled. Merlin smiled back. Finally, he felt accepted. He had his family back.


End file.
